


How The Abomination Saved Christmas

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Mark of Cain, Sam Is Bad At Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Claire is rescued from human traffickers she takes up residence in the bunker.  Dean and Castiel decide that she needs a real Christmas, and Sam is dispatched to the mall to ensure that this happens.  Of course, this being Sam's life, nothing quite goes according to plan.</p><p>Featuring a parcel of nursery school children, some old "friends," a very bad Santa, an even worse Santa and an elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The Abomination Saved Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for the Bitter Sam!girls Club Secret Santa exchange. The gift is for tumblr user itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead. 
> 
> Super special thanks to my beta sweetsamofmine!

Sam pulled his car into the parking lot, got out and stretched his legs. The mall here in Grand Island, Nebraska was already crowded and it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday – who seriously had the time to drop everything and go hang out at the mall in the middle of the day on a Tuesday, for crying out loud? Didn’t these people have jobs or something? 

Well, Sam had the time to drop everything and go hang out at the mall in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. He supposed he wasn’t in a position to judge. 

Except… except it was different for him. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Christmas, never had been even back before he’d found out about the family business, but now that Claire was living in the bunker while she tried to figure out what to do with herself after her brush with human trafficking all of a sudden everyone was all snowflakes and evergreens. “Claire deserves a real Christmas!” was Dean’s mantra, and while Sam privately thought that maybe Claire’s list of priorities put things like “stability” and “security” and “not living in a hole in the ground with two seriously unstable guys and the angel who had victimized her and torn apart her family” a little higher than putting a tree in the damn war room or whatever, he’d been overruled. 

“We can give her this back, Sam,” Castiel had told him. “Christmas was a treasured time for the Novak family, we can show her that we respect that.” 

Because a bit of freaking tinsel was going to give the girl back the childhood that Castiel had stolen in the first place. But okay. What did Sam know about it anyway? Out of the three of them he probably knew the least about being a functioning member of society. Cas had Jimmy’s memories even if Jimmy himself had long since left the building, Dean had those four and a half years with his family before Sam wrecked everything and then that year with Lisa and Ben before, well, before Sam had wrecked everything. Crap. If they really wanted to give Claire a life and a childhood back they should banish Sam to Patagonia or something.

Instead they’d sent him to the mall. Patagonia would have been better; he could have sat on a mountainside with some sheep or something. Well, okay, he was really the only possible candidate for this job. Cas might be doing better at playing the human these days but these things were relative – that didn’t mean he was good at it, just that he was less terrible at it than he’d been when Dean had dragged him off to that brothel. Sending him to a freaking mall would be like shining a giant beacon for everyone and their mother – hey, look, something weird is happening RIGHT HERE, even if Grand Island was over two hours away from the bunker. And Dean –

\- well, Dean and crowds of people was probably not a good combination right now. 

So Sam was pretty much the only one suited to hitting the mall. None of them were far gone enough that they expected Claire to buy her own Christmas presents or naïve enough to think that she was going to be honest enough to do anything even remotely legal if sent out on her own. It hadn’t been that long since Sam had been sixteen, after all – well not on Earth – crap. Aging was weird. He could remember being sixteen and being angry, angry all the time, and having no money and needing things, and well Claire hadn’t displayed any of the skill that he’d had when he’d been a teenager. 

Whatever. That was neither here nor there. He wasn’t here to criticize a teenage thief’s skills. He was here to make a Christmas for her, and that was what he was going to do. First things first – they needed decorations. They’d found some in the bunker, or at least what they thought were probably Christmas decorations, but they couldn’t be entirely sure because they’d been in a curse box. The label had been pretty specific – “Christmas decorations. Cursed. Do not use. Messy.” He supposed they should be grateful for the warning after the unpleasant incident involving the phonograph and the Frank Sinatra album. 

He bought them lights and garlands, trying to think of what would look appropriate to a middle-class girl like Claire. He’d seen a Martha Stewart magazine once on a case; something about monochromatic, right? Yeah, that was right. The decorations had been all one color except the occasional artificial bird or something, which the mall thankfully had. He wasn’t putting any freaking angel at the top of a tree, that was for sure. Dean and Cas could fight him all they wanted but he and Claire had discussed the matter privately and agreed that a star would be in better taste. Actually her exact words had been “I’ll set fire to it,” and his had been “I’ll hand you the lighter,” but he’d chosen to report it as “a star” if asked. 

There was holly, there were snowflakes to hang from things, there were sparkly garlands… there was an awful lot of bunker to decorate and apparently Andrew Shaffler of Lexington, Kentucky had deep pockets because the credit card Sam was using kept on paying. He brought all of the decorations out to the car, made his way back into the mall and started shopping for presents.

He wandered in and out of every store. He barely knew Claire. They had exactly one thing in common – having been possessed – and what did he know about teenaged girls anyway? Sure, he’d had friends who were girls in high school, if people you knew for a few days or a few weeks counted as friends. And maybe there had been a few he’d been closer to like Amy Pond or Rachel Nave, except he’d known Amy for all of what, a day? And Rachel had been possessed as it turned out, he couldn’t exactly use her as a reference point and it wasn’t like teenaged girls were a monolith, a one-size-fits-all category. Ugh. Jewelry, right? He could buy her jewelry, and then if she didn’t like it or she needed money or something she could sell it or pawn it or trade it or something. Clothes were an option, since no matter what they covered the body and kept you warm. He stopped buying her clothes, though, when the clothing store employees gently asked him if the person he was buying for was planning to wear “all of those things together?” in a tone that strongly suggested that she shouldn’t. He didn’t see what the problem was; they were all the right size. 

Maybe Kevin had something to offer? He’d been young, older than Claire but still young. Maybe some of the things he’d liked would be things she’d like? Um, maybe an iPad? Yeah, sure, why not? He could tinker with it before giving it to her so she couldn’t give their location away or anything, but she deserved to be able to get books and crap. 

The mall had a Santa photo booth, and that wasn’t exactly surprising. Most malls did, after all. Sam had noticed it when he came in. He didn’t pay it much mind. They’d never done the “photo with Santa” thing when he’d been a kid, because John didn’t spend money on foolishness that could be spent on hunting and who knew who or what was under that Santa suit anyway? And wherever you got a line for a Santa photo op you got kids, young kids, and Sam and young kids were not a great combination. So he tried to avoid looking too closely at the little faux North Pole as he went about his business, but he couldn’t help but notice that the mall Santa had been away from his post for a lot longer than the ten minutes stated in the “Back by” sign on his throne. He wouldn’t have gotten far as a hunter if he didn’t notice little things like that. He walked past after another trip to the car.

A small child of indeterminate gender tugged on his jeans. “Can I help you?” he asked the child, confused by the child’s boldness. 

“I’m so sorry,” the child’s responsible adult – probably a teacher, from the number of preschool-age people around her – interrupted, taking the child’s other hand and trying to tug them away. 

Sam looked away from her; she was pretty, very pretty, but he wasn’t here to look at pretty women and what was the point anyway? 

“Are you a giant?” the child wanted to know, looking up at Sam through long dark hair.

“Uh, no?” he replied, blinking. “I’m just a regular guy. I’m tall, but I’m a pretty regular guy.” He crouched down so he was closer to the child’s level. A few of the other children approached, and he felt a moment of panic rise inside of him. Was this going to turn out like the changelings? Or maybe like the Jefferson Starships? Were they all going to eat him? Maybe they were all possessed? He was already starting to feel crowded. “Are you all here to see Santa?”

“We are,” said another child, most likely a girl considering the dress and the bows in her hair. “And he was supposed to be back two hundred years ago but he’s not, he’s late!” She stomped a pink-clad little foot.

Sam lifted an eye to the teacher, who shrugged sheepishly. “I think it’s more like twenty minutes,” the teacher suggested gently, “but yeah. He is running a little behind schedule.”

“Everything takes forever when you’re little,” he told her with half a grin. The smile she offered in return was wider. “Any idea what might be holding him up?” 

He felt the press of cold metal to the back of his neck before he heard the click of a safety. Of course. Because no day of Christmas fun is complete without a gun barrel pressed to the base of your skull. He immediately lifted his hands to show peaceful intentions and try to keep people calm, but keeping preschoolers calm when there’s a gun in their faces is a skill very few people develop and Sam Winchester had never had occasion to learn it. The children started screaming, which drew the attention of more than a few passers-by.

“I’m surprised at you, Sam, using little kids as human shields. Then again, I suppose that the guy who popped the top on Lucifer wouldn’t be above that sort of thing, now, would he?” The voice was more than familiar. 

“Oh for crying out loud. Walt? Seriously?” He darted his eyes left. “That must make you Roy.”

“Damn it,” Roy muttered. Roy was dressed not in his usual hunter garb but as a Christmas elf, complete with the curly, pointy-toed shoes and tights. That would make it harder for him to do things like run or fight. That also strongly suggested that Walt had taken on the role of Santa. 

“What’s he talking about, Mr. Giant Man?” asked the child who had first tugged on Sam’s leg. 

“Joe, leave Mr. Sam alone,” instructed the teacher, with only the slightest tremor to her voice. Sam was more than slightly impressed by her ability to keep her cool given the situation. He supposed that after teaching preschool two rednecks with guns could hold no terrors for her. “He needs to concentrate right now.”

“Mr. Sam’s done some very bad things, Joey,” Walt informed.

“I’m not the one waving a gun at a bunch of four year olds,” Sam observed. 

“I’m four and a half!” insisted a little boy in a Chicago Bears jersey.

“I need to go pee,” wailed a little girl in a green dress. 

“Why does Santa have a gun?” Joe wanted to know.

“Did an elf make it?” asked a little Asian kid who stood closer to the teacher.

“My dad has a gun,” Chicago Boy informed. 

“I still need to pee,” Green Dress reminded them, squirming. 

Walt backhanded Sam on the back of the head. He grunted – Walt had a heavy hand – but kept his balance. “Shut up!” he hollered. 

The children jumped and started to sob, big watery tears that remained silent for the moment. They’d get loud in a few seconds, Sam was sure of it, but for now there was silence. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Sammy-boy here’s going to come with us, nice and quiet-like. And you’re all going to shut up and come too.” 

“Can we go to the bathroom first, Santa?” Green dress wanted to know, rubbing at her nose. 

“No,” Roy told her. 

Sam’s pulse raced in his ears. It would have been great if he could have just gone off with Roy and Walt and dealt with this in some back hallway of the Mall, out behind the pretzel shop where the cameras weren’t watching. The problem, of course, was the kids. If Roy and Walt would kill Dean, who was innocent and trying to stop the Apocalypse, just because he’d seen them they wouldn’t hesitate to kill a bunch of little kids because of their status as witnesses. He tried to catch the teacher’s eyes, not that he could tell her much. “You kids know that this isn’t really Santa Claus, right,” he told them. 

A couple of them looked sad. “But then where’s the real Santa?” demanded the Asian kid. 

“These are bad men,” the teacher told them with a glare. “They kidnapped the real Santa.” 

“Lady, if you want a real bad man you just have to look at this winner.” Walt kicked at Sam. “We’re all going to take a little walk.” He raised his voice again, this time pitching it to carry to the mall cops who’d just arrived. “We’re just going to take a little walk, and no one’s going to make any sudden moves.”

“So what brings you to Grand Island, Walt?” Sam demanded. He had a gun on him, although there were few things he wanted less a shootout, in a shopping mall at Christmastime in front of a handful of preschoolers. 

“Ghost,” Roy told him. “An old mall Santa. You know how it is.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t heard about that one. Been busy with other things, I guess.”

“So I’ve heard. You think you get a pass on breaking the world?” Walt sneered. 

“The world looks like it’s doing a pretty good job of breaking itself,” the teacher commented. “Or is Mr. Sam responsible for torture, environmental devastation, genocide –“ 

“All that and more, sister,” the false Santa growled. 

Sam considered. He still had Azazel’s taint within him, still had Lucifer’ s fingerprints on every part of him, so he supposed that from a certain point of view that could be considered to be accurate.

“Alrighty then,” the woman nodded, the kind of nod that you only used with someone who was so far beyond reason that you could only nod and smile.

Sam felt Walt relax minutely behind him. That was all he really needed, all he could afford to wait for. He moved fast, rising and grabbing Walt’s wrist with one hand while shoving against his elbow in the wrong direction with the other. Walt hadn’t been expecting him to move – after all, Sam hadn’t put up any kind of fight the last time they’d killed him. He screamed as his elbow dislocated, falling to his knees and releasing his gun into Sam’s hand.

Sam didn’t stop there. He grabbed Walt’s head with the non-gun hand and drove it into his knee, knocking his killer out. In the same fluid motion he stepped forward and slammed the butt of Walt’s pistol into Roy’s unprotected temple. Roy went down without a fight. Sam emptied both guns of their ammunition before putting them both down on the ground and standing up, hands raised. Mall security – joined now by one or two actual police officers – gaped as some of the onlookers applauded. 

Sam felt a blush rise in his cheeks, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to keep control of the situation before it completely blew up in his face. Instead he gave a quick bow, like he’d done back when he’d been in the theater. “Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen! Thanks for your calm and cooperative participation in our hostage scenario drill. Your tax dollars at work!” 

Mall security went about helping to secure Walt and Roy while one of the cops approached Sam. “You want to tell me what that little stunt was all about?” he muttered. 

“Uh, keeping a hostage situation out of the local news?” he hazarded. He fished in his pocket for the badge Jody had given him a long time ago. 

“Sioux Falls, huh?” The officer raised an eyebrow. “You’re a ways away from home.” 

“I’m visiting family in Kansas.” He made himself grin. “Decided to go shopping a little ways away from family in Kansas. Sometimes you can get too much togetherness, if you know what I mean.” He passed the smaller man one of Jody’s cards. “Here – call Sheriff Mills. Tell her what happened and that Sam Winchester got into a little bit of excitement.” 

Of course everyone – Sam, the teacher and the kids – all had to go to the mall security office. Sam and the teacher, who the kids introduced as Miss Keisha, entertained the kids with songs and stories while everyone told their version of events to the cops. Green Dress was finally permitted to use the bathroom. Sam, of course, didn’t know any Christmas songs or Christmas stories that were suited to young ears but he could listen to theirs. 

He was the first one to give a statement to the police, after they’d spoken to Jody. He wasn’t worried; he knew that she’d back him up. She’d given them both badges for just such a situation, after all. “So it looks like your story checks out,” stated Officer Smith. “But those guys definitely had a thing against you personally. Think they followed you here?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a coincidence,” he assured the man. “Crime of opportunity.”

“It’s just too bad that all those kids had their Christmas ruined by those two.” He shook his head. “I mean how traumatic must that not be?” 

Sam privately wondered how it compared to reading that your father had his doubts about not just your paternity but also your humanity. That had been a fun Christmas Eve. Then again, he probably shouldn’t make that comparison. Wasn’t the whole point to protect kids from trauma? “Isn’t there another Santa they can call in?” 

“Oh, sure. It’ll just take him a couple of hours to get here on account of him having another job.” He shook his head. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t get involved. Providing children with a Santa Claus was not part of his job description, and of course the only way he could actually do this involved some of the most loathsome beings of his acquaintance.

Then again, there were the kids.

“I know a guy. He can be here I probably about ten minutes.” 

The cop met his eyes. “Has he had his background checked?” 

“He’s absolute human filth, but not that kind of human filth and he has no warrants out at present. And I’m going to be standing right next to him the entire time.” He gave a grim smile. “He’ll know better than to try anything. Just give me a few seconds to make a call.” Smith gave him the office. 

Sam called Crowley. “Moose. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley didn’t sound happy to hear from him.

“I need you to show up at the Grand Island Mall. You’re going to show up with a Santa suit for yourself. Kids are going to sit on your lap and tell you what they want for Christmas, and you’re going to say ‘ho ho ho’ and give them candy canes. For two hours.” 

“Am I?” Crowley sneered. 

Sam let a pause speak for him. Crowley could be imaginative. “I could always summon you.” 

“What exactly do you think is going to stop me from making deals in the process, Jolly Green?” 

“That would be the elf standing right behind you with Ruby’s knife.” He knew that his grin came through in his voice, and that it wasn’t a nice grin.

“Right. I’ll be there.” 

And he showed up nine minutes and thirty seconds after Sam called, dressed in a more authentic Santa suit than Walt had ever dreamed of and offering the jolliest of laughs. “One extra-tall elf suit for you, Moose,” he beamed, offering a leather jerkin and silken tights to Sam. 

Sam accepted the garments with a shrug and went to put them on. It wasn’t like he had anything anyone hadn’t seen before anyway; that kind of shyness had to be a foreign concept to him now. “Remember,” he told the demon. “No sales. I will be watching. These are children.” 

“I would never,” he objected, a hand on his chest. “Honestly, I’m doing it just for the opportunity to see you in tights, Samantha. Now let’s go. Can’t leave the darling little kiddies waiting, can we?” 

The kids, whose jaws had dropped when they’d seen “Santa” walk in, absolutely fell over when they saw Sam walk out of the office dressed in the elf suit. Miss Keisha’s eyes darkened when she got a glimpse at the tights. “Mr. Sam,” gasped Joe. “You know Santa?” 

Crowley winked at the child. “How do you think he knew that the bad men weren’t Santa?” he rumbled. “Mr. Sam saved me, didn’t he? Come along, Joe. Let’s get back to Christmas, shall we?” 

Joe took Sam’s hand – which just felt weird, weirder than wandering around in public wearing skin-tight green tights and a mid-thigh little tunic thing – and they marched back down to the little North Pole. 

Sam supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Crowley made a good Santa Claus. The guy was an excellent actor and had made a long and vile career out of knowing exactly what people wanted in the secret places of their hearts. “Ho ho ho,” Crowley boomed. “Alright, Malcolm. Let’s hear all about your thirst for a model train set – oh, but wait. It seems like you’ve been a snivelly little thing, haven’t you? More than a few ticks on the ‘naughty’ list.” 

“Why, Liana, it seems here that you’ve been a delightful young girl for the past seven months. Of course, it’s been twelve since my last visit.” 

“Roger, you’re generally a delightful little boy. I’m exceptionally impressed by the way you got your brother blamed for breaking the lamp. Very impressive. However, you seem to have widdled on my leg.” 

After two hours Crowley’s relief came, as did Sam’s, and they were both free to go. In the privacy of the security locker room Crowley snapped himself back into his regular clothing and Sam changed back into clothes that left a little bit to the imagination. “That was actually rather enjoyable, Moose,” Crowley observed. “I blame your blood, you know.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “What, you liked hearing all the little kids asking for stuff?” 

“I liked the trusting wee bairns,” he murmured. “I don’t see much innocence where I spend my days, you know. I might just see what I can do about giving them some of their little gifties this year.” 

“In exchange for what?” he wanted to know, turning on Crowley and narrowing his eyes.

“The pleasure of having put a smile on their faces.” Crowley paused and made a face. “Did that really come out of my mouth? I feel dirty. Are we even on the whole putting you to work looking for Alphas thing?”

“On that, yes.”

“Excellent. I’ll be off then.” Crowley disappeared. 

Sam emerged from the security office to find Miss Keisha waiting for him. “Where are the kids?” he asked, concerned. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, no. They’re with one of the other teachers. I just wanted to say that you… well, you were impressive today, Sam.” She looked down and then back up at him, cheeks glowing. “I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay.” 

He should just tell her what a terrible idea that was, for her sake, but he couldn’t. He’d feel like he was letting her down, and at this time of year it would feel incredibly assy. “That would be great,” he told her. And for normal people it would. She was beautiful, she was brave, she was smart. “Thanks.” He accepted the phone number she passed him and even put it into his phone, promising to call in the next few days. He wouldn’t, but he could look at the number and remember that someone had actually, you know, been interested in him. They hadn’t known him, otherwise it would have been a different story, but they’d wanted to however briefly. 

He left the mall, barely having time to stop and buy them a potted tree. He could have gotten an artificial tree, or a regular cut tree, but he just… didn’t want to. Everything in all of their lives had involved so much destruction lately; he just wanted to do something constructive. Dean would make fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. 

No one noticed the length of time he’d been gone. Dean didn’t even have anything to say about the living tree. Claire proved to be surprisingly into the idea, though. She even found a UV lamp somewhere in one of the storage rooms to help simulate sunlight, so the poor thing wouldn’t die. While she’d been at best neutral toward Sam since they’d met again she now watched him decorate the tree with something like fascination. “You’ve put… you’ve put some thought into this tree, haven’t you?” she asked finally. 

“We wanted to make it special for you,” he shrugged.

“What are your trees usually like?” she blinked. 

“We haven’t had a tree since 2007 – the year before the first time Dean died.” He grimaced. “I decorated it with air fresheners from the gas station.” 

She laughed out loud. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I hadn’t celebrated Christmas since… oh, since I was eight, before that. So I was a little unclear on the concept.” He let out a little laugh. “I saw this in a Martha Stewart magazine once, on a case.” 

She shook her head. “You guys are so screwed up.” 

Maybe they were. But at least it made for some good stories to tell Claire, and she seemed to get a kick out of the story about the time they broke into the rare book store to lift an old grimoire for their dad or about that time they’d taken out those two old pagan Christmas gods that one time. “I still can’t even tolerate the sight of meadowsweet,” he admitted. 

He took out his phone and looked at Keisha’s number a few times. He didn’t call. When Dean caught him, he lied and told his brother he was getting updates from Carlos or Mike. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide Keisha or anything – not really. He just… didn’t think that was something Dean needed to know about. The bunker was vaguely festive; he didn’t need the atmosphere to get brought down. 

On Christmas morning he watched as the others opened their gifts. Castiel liked his new tie very much, and seemed to appreciate the framed photos of Claire and Dean that Sam had contrived to give him. Dean liked his new flannel shirts and cookbooks. He’d been fairly certain of his success with the gifts for both men – he knew them fairly well, after all. Claire, though, was the biggest concern, but she squealed with delight when she opened her new clothes and her iPad and her jewelry. Sam hid his face in his hair, an old tactic he’d always resorted to whenever dealing with praise or censure. Then Dean went to make breakfast, and Claire to enjoy her gifts. 

Castiel approached. “You received no gifts, Sam,” he frowned. 

“Well, no, Cas. It was my job to get the gifts. You don’t wrap things for yourself and stick them under the tree.” He chuckled. 

Cas looked troubled, but said nothing more. 

The little family gathered for a Christmas brunch, which consisted of a rich French toast and bacon. Sam ate what he could, although he couldn’t easily digest the rich food. Fortunately a phone call excused him from having to pretend. “Hello?” he greeted.

“Sam? It’s Keisha, merry Christmas,” she greeted. 

“Keisha! Merry Christmas!” he blurted in surprise. “This is… surprising.” 

She laughed out loud. “Yeah, I’d imagine that it was. You never had much intention of calling me, did you?” 

“Well, I mean,” he hedged. All three of the others were staring, possibly because his face had just drained of all color.

“It’s okay, Sam. Your friend there, Bad Santa or whatever, he said you probably wouldn’t actually call. Something about ‘frightful self-worth issues, hasn’t made the first move since he played Connect Four with Bob Miller in first grade.’ So he gave me your number and said to tell you it was his Christmas present to you. So. This is me, asking if you’d like to join me for a casual dinner tomorrow night.” She did a fairly decent impression of Crowley’s accent all things considered.

“Tomorrow night?” Sam squeaked. He froze, too startled to even know what to say. 

He was definitely too shocked to react when Dean grabbed the phone out of his hands. “Did you just ask my little brother out on a date?” he asked gruffly. 

Sam buried his face in his hands. “I’m moving to Alaska,” he vowed.

“His answer is yes. Text him when and where to meet you and I’ll make sure he’s there. Nah, the guy’s just shy. Trust me. I’ve known him for decades. All right. He’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up the phone. “Merry Christmas, Sammy. Now drink your eggnog.” He walked back toward the kitchen, half a smile quirking up his mouth.


End file.
